Patrick Lawler


	The woman's

	body is a goblet.  And the man	         is filled
	   with a need	    to tell          a story	

	that is filling with their love.       The deep sex	

	sounds		     of giving birth.  	  The deep

	sea			      sounds      of giving


	The man		             doesn't know         if

	he is a		      woman or a man.

	Into this       weird  world  of  everyday   longing

	for miracles,  		           he      stumbles.

	When the 		        child      appears

	from          the         women's    body,

	the man says,			      "I  have  been

	waiting     to talk    to you for a very long time."

	While she is         in labor,             wherever
	they  made  love	      fills with the ocean,

	water goes        in and around         the tiny
	articles that had rubbed   against their lives--

	the clocks         and boxes          and spoons.
	The wedding dress                    in the attic

	she  wore  for  someone  else  sways  beneath  the
	water.			 The garden             is

	engulfed.    The trees in the woods
	are  learing                new  ways  to  breathe.
	Water	  flows	     into the	    things they left

	the black hole			of  the  man's  hat,
	the soft   red		     caves  of  the  woman's

	pockets.     Someone   wakes   to   an   ocean   in
	Topeka.					Another  to

	an ocean in Zanzibar.			      Hotel
	rooms  are	  flooded,	        luggage

	floating	   out  the  doors.       When   the
	child			          appears  from  the	

	woman's body,		       the   woman   says,
	"Oh,  how quickly you must learn	to swim."